Unforgettable
by dalekchung
Summary: When Alex finally gets fed up with his "normal" life, he returns to the UK – only to find that he hasn't been forgotten. For SpyFest 2015. (WARNING: Contains a cliché)


**DISCLAIMER: I do _not_ own Alex Rider.**

Unforgettable

"Don't do it," Sabina was clutching Alex's shoulder rather painfully as he stared across the street. He was watching some sort of gang member, pummeling another person.

He clenched his fists, "I have to-"

Sabina interrupted him furiously, letting go of him, "You don't have to do _anything!_ I thought you wanted to be normal again!"

Alex swallowed hard, already stepping towards the fighting pair, "Maybe I wasn't meant to be."

"If you go over there," Sabina had unshed tears in her eyes, "you're going back to the UK – back to MI6."

He turned, unable to face his on-off girlfriend, "Perhaps that was always meant to be too."

UNFORGETTABLE

He missed Sabina and the Pleasures. It was almost painful. Just twenty-four hours ago, he had hopped onto the first plane to Heathrow and left without saying goodbye.

When he had arrived, it was like MI6 knew he'd be coming – which was probably the case. He had spotted the MI6 agent immediately and was sent to the Royal and General Bank, where he was officially named as an agent and given back his old home.

And now he was on his way to school.

It was almost like he'd never been gone. Cars still honked at him angrily as he sped through the streets on his old bike. The students at Brookland still laughed loudly, slapping each other on the backs, making stupid jokes. He was _still_ behind on his work.

Alex locked his bike at the bike rack and headed to the office, where he knew Miss Bedfordshire sat.

"Hello, Alex," she was smiling at him with undisguised happiness, "America didn't work out for you, then?"

Alex shot her a small smile, but it felt fake on his face, "No, miss."

She clucked, reaching over to grab a paper from the printer, "Here's your schedule! I trust you can get around by yourself?"

Alex nodded, taking the paper, "Thanks!"

He left the room, into a busy, already crowded hallway.

" _Look who's back!"_

Alex didn't bother to turn around to see who had spoken. Within moments, the school had been engulfed in whispers about him.

Alex Rider had returned.

He didn't think it was an unusual occurrence, but apparently, Brookland Comprehensive had thought he was gone for good. That was obviously not the case.

Alex tore his eyes from his schedule when his phone began to buzz in his pocket.

 _'6_

 _Your location has been leaked. Report to Bank immediately._

His blood ran cold. His location had been "leaked"? Did that mean there was a mole in MI6's midst?

Alex changed directions abruptly, heading for the entrance. He was nearly there when he noticed the headmaster by the doors, clearly waiting for a student to make a break for it.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Rider?"

Alex had to hold back a chuckle. Mr. Bray must have been rehearsing that line because he sounded exactly like Professor Snape from the _Harry Potter_ movies _._

"I just received notification from-"

"I'm not having any of that," Mr. Bray crossed his arms, "There will be an assembly in five minutes, and I want to be able to see you, sitting in the first row, right in the middle. Understand?"

Alex nodded numbly, backing away from the man. He pulled out his phone, quickly texting back to either Mrs. Jones or Smithers, he wasn't sure.

 _To: '6_

 _I can't get out w/o raising suspicion._

A second passed before his phone buzzed again.

 _From: '6_

 _Your first priority is to protect the civilians. Shoot to kill if you have to. Stay alert and don't let your guard down._

 _To: '6_

 _Understood._

Alex put away his phone, heartbeat racing. His adrenaline was already rushing. He had forgotten how good it felt.

"All classes to the assembly hall," the intercom blared throughout the half-empty hallways.

" _Yessss!"_

Alex could hear several people shouting, excited that they would be missing class.

He was nearly there, his hands shaking in anticipation. He cursed himself for forgetting to put on his bulletproof vest that morning. It really did seem that his two weeks in America really had made him softer.

Alex's eyes slid over to the glass doors right outside the assembly hall. He probably wouldn't have noticed it without MI6's warning, but he could spot a couple cars in the parking lot that didn't seem to fit. Perhaps it was the tinted windows or the inconspicuous recording devices on the hoods of the cars.

Alex turned his back on them, making his way to the first row, front and center, like Mr. Bray had told him to. He wished he could sit in the back, where he could react the quickest without being noticed.

He shifted slightly so that his gun would be able to reach for it quickly.

"So you're back again."

Alex turned to see a familiar face standing by him. The raven haired boy sat, a frown stretching over his face.

"Yeah, I'm back," he smiled at his old friend.

Tom was scowling furiously, "You didn't even tell me you were leaving! What kind of shitty friend does that?"

Alex was openly grinning now, "Sorry, mate," he patted Tom on the back, "I've been a bit busy.

With that, the other boy seemed to have forgiven him. Tom grinned back, "So tell me about your adventures in America."

And Alex was off, speaking in hushed tones as he described his first encounter with a gang member, then ended up taking down the whole gang in the matter of three days.

"Alright, alright!" Mr. Bray was at the podium, "Settle down."

Alex shot another grin at his friend. He had really missed his best mate.

"Today, I, along with all of your teachers, have prepared a special presentation for you about your future and your careers," Mr. Bray gestured to a row of guests behind him, "They will be presenting their own careers to you."

Polite clapping filled the room.

Alex scanned the row, noting with relief when he spotted Agent John Crawley, dressed up as, presumably, a banker.

At least he wasn't alone this time.

"First up, a soldier in the SAS," Mr. Bray led the clapping before he sat down in an empty seat.

Alex's stomach jerked at he recognized the man on the podium. He wasn't someone that Alex had personally worked with, but he had seen him around in his ten days at Brecon Beacons.

It seemed that the man recognized Alex too, but he hid it. He had probably been loaned to MI6 specifically that day. Briefly, Alex wondered what had happened to the _real_ people that Crawley and the soldier had replaced.

"In the SAS, we're all given code names…"

Alex didn't bother to pay attention. Instead, he snuck subtle looks at Crawley, who looked enraptured by the soldier's presentation.

He looked away, down the line where another person had sunglasses on top of his head. He hoped to catch a glimpse of what was happening behind him, but the reflection was too far away to see.

The first half of the presentation went smoothly. Crawley had presented, boring probably the whole room, including himself. After all, he wasn't a _real_ banker.

It was right after a lawyer had presented when the auditorium doors swung open, letting in bright light.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Crawley tense, his hand beginning to sneak inside his jacket.

The students turned, murmuring to themselves. Alex turned too, afraid of being noticed by his actions.

"What's happening?" Tom muttered in Alex's ear.

"Stay calm," Alex said back quietly, "We'll handle this."

Mr. Bray had seized control of the situation, "Excuse me, bu-"

A high pitch scream cut him off. Miss Bedfordshire was being dragged along with the dark figures. They were making their way up the rows, a few, grabbing a couple of the students.

"Sit down."

The voice was heavily accented. Russian? Maybe Slovakian? Alex couldn't tell. He also couldn't tell what he'd done to piss off the Russians. The only Russian he'd ever faced was Sarov…

Well shit. He really hoped that he hadn't pissed them off by inadvertently killing Sarov.

The Russian soldiers – or whatever they were – tromped up the stairs, onto the stage, and dumped the hostages into a row in front of them, guns pointed at the back of their heads.

"There is only one person in this room who knows what is going on," the accented English came from the man at the podium. He was tall and imposing, but he was old, probably around his fifties.

The man was scanning the crowd, starting from the back of the auditorium. He had probably expected Alex to be back there.

"And I will ask him to step forth for the sake of these innocent civilians."

Alex met Crawley's eyes, ready to stand up. Crawley sent him a piercing look, clearly warning him to stay seated.

"No?" The man pointed at a kneeling hostage next to him.

The guard behind the girl – one that Alex didn't recognize – cocked his gun, ready to fire.

"Going once… going twice…" The man was taunting him, grinning sadistically, "and sold!"

The finger on the trigger tightened, but before he could shoot the girl, a bullet was sprouting out of the man's own head. He toppled over, on top of the crying girl, dead.

The whole school was screaming and crying. Crawley had simply calmly stood up, gun in hand, shooting the man. The SAS soldier had also stood, a gun produced out of thin air.

Even with the two there, they were severely outnumbered ten to one.

The leader didn't even look shocked. He wore an expression of bored irritation, "Take care of them."

Alex wanted to stand, but Crawley shot another look at him. And so the battle commenced.

It was a joke to think that the two could beat the twenty or so soldiers in the room. He had to act.

Alex jumped up, his gun in his hand. Several of the soldiers were aiming at the hostages, clearly trying to subdue the two by threatening the civilians.

They didn't see him coming. Five _cracks_ later, they lay dead, a pool of blood forming.

" _Idiot!"_ Crawley shouted, undoubtedly furious.

Alex didn't respond. He just hopped on stage and joined the struggle, adrenaline pumping. He would have never said it to anyone, but he had really missed the feeling of danger nipping at his heels.

By then, the guns and bullets had been abandoned. Allies and enemies were too close together to get a good shot. They were now relying on old fashioned hand to hand combat.

The three of them had been separated. Alex fought alone, dangerously close to the edge of the stage. He used this to his advantage, flinging flailing black-clad warriors over the edge and bashing their skulls in on the ground.

He only had two left, standing on either side of him. Using the oldest trick in the book, he slid out of the way, just as they went charging for him. They banged into each other, Alex helping out by knocking their heads together.

 _Click._

Alex froze at the noise right behind his head. He knew the sound well enough to recognize that it was a gun.

 _"Alex Rider."_

His name was hissed with such hate that it seemed to carry across the whole auditorium. By then, Crawley and the SAS soldier had stopped fighting and were being restrained by the remaining two militants.

"What do you want with me?" Alex gritted his teeth, staring at the students before him. Most had hid behind the chairs, obviously terrified.

The man was chuckling, walking around Alex so that his face was directly in front of him, "You don't recognize me?"

Alex studied his features, clenching his fists. He was right about the "Sarov" thing. The man was clearly Russian and related to Sarov.

"I am Anton Sarov, brother to the Sarov that _you_ killed."

Alex wanted to kick the man where it hurt, "He killed himself, bastard!"

The gun was pressed against his head, held tightly by Anton. He was shaking with rage, " _You_ killed him! _You_ are responsible!"

Alex was furious too, but he contained it, letting a cold smile slither across his face.

"So what if I was?" He asked, tensing. He was fishing for an opportunity, "How was I to know that he was going to turn the gun on himself?"

Anton drew a shaky breath, about to reply.

And Alex struck.

He was quick, snaking his hands to the gun, jerking it upwards and trying to break it free of Anton's grasp.

Anton had been expecting it. Three shot were fired, the gun shuddering in both of their hands. They were fighting, both of them using dirty tricks. Neither one of them wanted to lose it.

Alex, with great effort, managed to roll both of them off of the stage. Still holding on, Anton landed with a huff, on the little dogpile of bodies.

Alex hadn't been so lucky. He had lost his grip and had slid down the pile, into a puddle of wet blood.

He immediately stood, searching for his own gun that had been tucked into his belt safely.

His hands grabbed empty air.

" _Fuck!"_ He muttered, spotting his gun a few steps away. He dived for it, just a split second after a loud _crack_ filled his ears.

Searing pain erupted in his chest, but Alex had reached his gun. He wasn't going to lose, dammit.

 _Crack!_

Even with his hand shaking badly, he had hit his target. A single gunshot to Anton Sarov's chest.

Alex's gun clattered to the ground, his hands clutching the wound in his chest.

He felt like he was choking, as if he was in a pool and had breathed in water. Afar, he could see Crawley and the SAS soldier, finishing off the last two.

Fuck, he couldn't breathe. His vision was getting blurry.

Alex had experienced near-death many times before, but he hadn't felt like this. Pain dancing across his chest like fire. Air stolen from his lungs, like some sick version of drowning.

Perhaps his luck had finally run out.

UNFORGETTABLE

"He was a patriot," Mrs. Jones stood in front of the shell-shocked school two hours later, "and a true hero."

The blood and the bodies had been cleared off, leaving stains in the floor.

Tom stared at the head of MI6, unbelieving.

Alex was dead.

"Contrary to popular beliefs, Alex Rider was not a drug dealer. He was not part of a gang. He was not sickly," Mrs. Jones looked like an emotionless statue, "He was a loyal agent – one that will not be forgotten by any means."

Tom gripped the medallion of bravery in his hand. He had been the closest to Alex, receiving the medal in place of his best friend.

He closed his eyes, shoving the medallion in his pocket.

Damn that stupid, reckless Rider boy. He was simply unforgettable.

* * *

 **A/N: So... How was that?**

 **I've finally broken through a mildly irritating writer's block, so I hope this was good! If you liked it, don't forget to vote.**

 **Love y'all :)**

 **-A**


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